


Burn

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: Burn<br/>Content / Warnings: Incest, mentions of self-harm, suicide attempt, angst.<br/>Summary: He waited for the sound of footsteps outside the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

Charlie ran his fingers over pale knuckles, fighting back the torrent of emotion building in his throat. He had no idea how he was meant to be the strong one when he was falling apart from the inside out.  
  
He had never felt more useless. More defunct. His brawn and even his brains had done nothing to protect his lover from the ravages of his mental illness, which was galling. He'd still attempted to kill himself. Even Charlie's _love_ hadn't been enough to prevent the attempt, and that just about finished him.  
  
He lifted the knuckles to his mouth and kissed them. Ron slept on, looking dead, gone. If it wasn't for the sight of his chest rising and falling, Charlie would never have believed he was still with them. He glanced at the clock. He knew he didn't have long before the family descended on them, before they heard the news and rushed to Ron's bedside, baffled and dismayed about the whole thing.  
  
Only Charlie had ever known about his depression. Somehow, Ron had managed to keep it from everyone else, even their mother. Charlie wasn't sure, though, that Ron had ever tried to keep it from him. Ron had never seemed to hide it when he was so paralysed by his depression that he couldn't express emotion, or force himself out of bed in the morning. The secrecy which had shrouded their romance had enabled Ron to keep the truth from the wider family about how unwell he was. His privacy was respected in the messy, homely little flat he owned, and to which Charlie was a frequent visitor.  
  
Charlie had tried to get him help. He'd gone with him to appointments and even tried to monitor that Ron was taking the medication prescribed by the healers. But he obviously hadn't done it well enough.  
  
Tears brimmed over and slid down his cheeks. Charlie hated himself in that moment. He hadn't been able to stop it.  
  
His chest was burning. Before it had burned with lust, and passion and even pure emotion. He had held Ron close so many times, cuddled him, kissed him, made love to him. It hadn't been enough.  
  
He rubbed a thumb over the bandage on Ron's wrist. He'd always hated the cutting, but the healers had told him that it served a purpose. If it made Ron feel better, then what did it matter how hard it was to look at? How horrible it was to have to clean up the blood. As long as he wasn't putting his life at risk, the healers had said, then it could continue. Ron had said it made him feel better. Charlie had tried to make his peace with it.  
  
In the end, though, he'd used it in the wrong way. In a way which meant he had nearly left them all for good. Both wrists had gaping wounds when Charlie had found him. The blood was probably dried on the soles of his boots. The Healers had said that just another few minutes on the floor would have seen Ron in the St Mungo's morgue, and he wasn't out of danger yet. They had plugged him with blood replenishing potions and vitamins and everything they could think of to replace what had been lost – blood which was congealing on the kitchen floor of Ron's flat.  
  
Charlie coughed, the emotion threatening to choke him again. It had him around the throat. He was desperate for a cigarette, but he knew his legs wouldn't carry him even if he wanted to leave Ron's side.  
  
There was so much he needed to say. So much that he felt he should have said before. He was terrified that if he had said those things, Ron wouldn't even be in the hospital. He blamed himself for everything. Even though it wasn't his fault that Ron had always suffered from mood swings and low mood, he felt that their relationship had only complicated things for his younger brother. It was illegal. It was wrong. It had stopped them both from finding healthier relationships, and every time they had tried to walk away from each other, they'd ended up back in bed together.  
  
How was he supposed to mend Ron when he was part of the cause of his misery?  
  
“I love you,” he breathed, tucking the hand into both of his own and bringing it close to his heart.  
  
He waited for the sound of footsteps outside the door.


End file.
